


sunsweet

by winluvr



Category: Peanuts - Charles M. Schulz (Comics)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), F/M, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, flowers as symbolism, former prodigy navigates burnout, vague timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:22:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29508969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winluvr/pseuds/winluvr
Summary: Twenty-year-old former piano prodigy Schroeder feels lost and comes back home. He re-meets Lucy van Pelt and they bond over the things left unsaid, happiness and the meaning of life as they know it.
Relationships: Schroeder/Lucy van Pelt
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	sunsweet

“When are you coming home?”

“I might be home for the summer.”

—

Schroeder spares a glance at his wristwatch. He wonders if he’s running late for the bus. It would be his first time riding public commute after years of having his personal driver drive him around to university, but he decides it would be worth it. It would be worth sitting among other people, even if it did make him shudder to see them sit too close. Just to see all of his old friends. He stops by a small booth selling individual flowers in their plastic packaging and the ribbon tied around near the base of the flower and picks out a few. 

One for Sally in light pink—she had always loved flowers, after all. Especially pink ones, nearly as sweet as she is. Even when she couldn’t quite place a name to them, even when she couldn’t preserve them so neatly. He’s heard from Charlie that she’s started a new scrapbook, collecting every memory she’s had with Linus, pasting every photo she had taken of him in secret, preserving every little pressed petal from the five years they have been together. He wonders idly if his rose would have any space in her collection. He smiles.

And another, for Lucy. In lavender, with the faintest aroma, with the thickest petals of the bunch. He’d heard of bright blue roses before, even orange, burgundy. But he’s never seen roses in lavender before. He wonders if she would admire the rose from its head to its very bottom. He wonders if she would bring them close to her face, taking in its sweet scent, her fingers lingering from petal, to thorn and to stalk. He wonders, still if it would bring her old memories of him. As he studies the petals, rough against his thumb, he can’t help but wonder if she still liked him as much as she used to.

“These two flowers right here, please,” he tells the woman presiding over the booth. She looks far too old to be selling flowers, especially in this heat. There is a streak of sweat on her forehead, but she quickly wipes it away with the back of her hand. She smiles brightly at him, almost knowingly.

“For a lover, hm?” she asks, placing them in a paper bag. He hesitates, but decides to nod his head instead. After all, what harm could it do? He’d loved her, it was true. “You’ve made a great choice. Lavender…” Her voice, sounding wistful, trails away. She shakes her head as if snapping herself away from distraction, smiling again. “That would be two dollars each.”

Schroeder takes the bag, promising that he would come by again. Mostly because he felt like her business wasn’t doing too well these days, but also because he couldn’t help but be reminded of his own grandmother who doted on him and promised to send him to a lovely music school one day. It’s been years since her passing and she wonders if she would still be as proud of him as she used to be. He had become a conductor and took up gigs playing pianos in bars, but it felt like something was missing from his life. He was incomplete.

He brushes the thought of being grown, pushing the thought of being in his early adulthood and still living an unfulfilled life aside, looking down at the roses in his bag again. He would reminisce on it later. For now, he must be on his way.

—

Lucy watches her reflection in her bedroom mirror, tucking her hair behind her ear, smoothening the wrinkled sleeves of her bright blue dress. It isn’t quite different from the dresses her father had given her that she used to wear along with a pair of Oxfords in her childhood, with the puffy sleeves and hem reaching the top of her knees that were ever so often bruised. The scratches on her knees had healed a few years ago, making her feel more confident to wear nice dresses.

There’s a knock on her bedroom door and she’s certain it is Linus. “What is it?” she calls out, dabbing pressed powder around her face and a touch of tint on her lips. She wasn’t inept at putting make-up on, but she wasn’t quite as skilled as Sally was. She sighs, still feeling underdressed for the occasion. A childhood friend was coming home after a long time and she felt like she mustn’t let herself seem shabby.

“He’s here,” Linus says, swinging the door open. He’s still fiddling with the dress shirt Sally made him wear to go along with her little white sundress. If Lucy were to be generous, she would comment on how handsome he looks. He cleans up quite nicely, much unlike the baby-faced blanket-clinging little boy he used to be. “Schroeder has finally come home.”

Lucy startles a little. “Already?” She packs up the pressed powder, the tint, the old tube of mascara that she has been fussing around with. “Do I look alright?” she says, making sure that her cream slip doesn’t show from under her dress. She steps out into the living room, the air suddenly cooler.

Linus barely spares a nod of his head in her direction before inviting their guest in. “Linus, my good friend,” Schroeder greets him, sounding too formal for the boy she remembers, the boy who used to scream at the top of his lungs when he wouldn’t be left alone to practice his symphony, the boy who she remembers liking almost all her life. “How’ve you been?”

Lucy ends up tuning out on Linus’ response, only picking up a few yearning words about his beloved girlfriend. She looks at their old neighbor—her childhood crush, seeing how much has changed about him. Physically, he looks almost similar to what she remembers about him in their teen years. Same blond hair curling to his forehead, same sun-browned skin. When he raises his hand to scratch at his neck, she notices his hands still look the same. Long fingers, thinner at the top, like a candle that hasn’t had the chance to melt. Neat nails. He’d never been unkempt. Calluses grown from ice hockey.

Schroeder catches her gaze and excuses himself from the conversation with Linus. He reaches into the bag that she hasn’t even noticed he was holding and pulls out something small in neat plastic packaging. Her heart jumps, just a little.

“For you,” Schroeder says, his voice low. It seems almost like he had felt too shy to give it to her so soon. Schroeder’s holding a single lavender rose in his hand, holding it out to her, and for Lucy, it’s like the whole world stops for a while.

Lucy tries to smile as sweetly as she can. It’s all she could have ever wanted. She’s always wanted a gift like this from Schroeder. A nice little flower symbolic of his undying love.

—

Charlie Brown, his sister Sally and the others arrive sooner or later. Charlie in a plaid get-up in muted colors, Sally in a white dress trimmed with eyelet lace hanging down to her knees. Schroeder thinks they both look lovely, looking at the way their clothes have been neatly pressed before coming here. He wonders self-consciously if his white dress shirt and black work slacks were up for the occasion— _his_ own homecoming—but decides to greet his old friends instead.

“Charlie Brown,” Schroeder says, “it’s been a while. Sally, hi, you look great today. What have the two of you been up to?” He wonders if Charlie’s pursuit of the Little Red Haired Girl was still aimless, knowing he could never have the guts to approach women in his own way. He was a bit timid like that.

“Schroeder,” Sally says, pressing a quick kiss on his cheek to greet him. Linus barely flinches beside him—after all, he was used to her greeting old friends so warmly. “Have you not heard about Charlie Brown’s new girl?” He blinks at her, looking blankly at Charlie, wondering what other news he hasn’t heard about over the years. “He started dating—”

“Peppermint Patty,” Charlie Brown finishes quite shyly. “You know her, don’t you, Schroeder? I heard the two of you used to be in the same classes, but she doesn’t remember much.”

Schroeder nods, recognizing the name. Of course he would! It was  _ that  _ little girl who sat a few rows behind him who often fell asleep and caused trouble in class. What a small world it was, to learn that your former classmate and your best friend were dating each other. “Sure I do. It’s impossible to forget.”

Sally interrupts. “How come you haven’t found someone to be with yet, Schroeder?” She smiles, saying, “We all thought you would be the first one to find someone special with all of those girls hanging around you all the time.” She looks back at Lucy, her smile sly. “You too, Lucy! I wonder if you still haven't found someone quite as handsome as Schroeder?”

Lucy’s cheeks flush red at this comment, though she seems to brush it away. “Oh, Sally, for a woman who has grown to be taller than me, you sure still act like the chatterbox you were in your childhood.” Schroeder smiles a little, although somehow he wonders if she already has someone else. He had forgotten to ask, though he feared it. “But for the record, I still haven’t found anyone I could possibly be in love with.”

Schroeder’s heart catches in his throat, but he decides to speak up at this moment. “Oh,” he says, “ _ oh _ , Lucy. I wonder why you still haven’t found anyone else. After all, it’s been a while since we’ve last seen one another.” He wonders if he could go any longer without stumbling on his words. He wonders if the insinuation of her words were true: that she still was fond of him, that there was hope for him after all.

Sally tugs at Linus’ shirt sleeve, pulling him away with her. She looks knowingly at Linus and darts her eyes toward her brother who hasn’t quite gotten the hint. “Come on, let’s get our drinks. Let’s give them some time to talk and catch up.”

Flustered, Schroeder calls out for Sally. “Wait, Sally, I have been meaning to give this to you.” He holds out the light pink rose that’s been sitting in the paper bag ever since he came into the room, watching as her face lights up. She thanks him heartily then interwines her hand with Linus’, blowing Schroeder a kiss through the air as they walk by together.

Lucy smiles down at her own rose, fiddling with it as she looks up at Schroeder. Only now does Schroeder realize how short of a girl she really was, and how it didn’t detract to how intimidating she could be. “And I thought I was special.” 

“You are special,” Schroeder mumbles incoherently, but Lucy doesn’t seem to mind. Or hear. Louder, he says, “I said, you  _ are  _ special.” He looks at the twinkle in Lucy’s eyes. “To me.”

“Missed me?” Lucy says, a small smile curling on her lips. She has gone back to teasing him so suddenly that it feels like whiplash. All those years have faded and suddenly they are back to their old cat and dog act. Schroeder used to feel exasperated every time she would bring up marriage then. “It’s been around five years since you left the neighborhood.”

“Not at all,” Schroeder quips immediately. Then, almost like an afterthought, “You know I didn’t just come home for you.” He’s astonished at what he just said. He regrets it, certainly, but he doesn’t bother taking it back. The old Lucy, the Lucy he remembers, takes everything at face value. “Why, I just wanted to make sure Charlie Brown hasn’t been wallowing in sorrow after, you know, Snoopy died.” You couldn’t hurt a heart made of stone. “And that the old gang still lived here.” 

He knew he was digging his grave deeper into the ground. If Lucy was hurt, she doesn’t show it, doesn’t say anything to let him know. He hesitates, then says, “Well, I did miss you.”

“All those miles and you still won’t tell me what I want to hear.” Lucy laughs and Schroeder notices how everything has changed. Her laugh has become more refined, perhaps sweeter, even. The little-girl laugh was gone, the sweet tinkle of laughter in the air, flushed cheeks, un-suppressed. Now, when she laughs, it’s like she was holding herself back in front of him. He stares at her and she looks back, confused.

“Can’t take your eyes off me, hm?” Lucy smiles once more, lightheartedly, the skin around her blue eyes crinkling into crescents. “I know what it’s like, silly. I’ve stared at the top of your head like that for years.” He’s liked her for almost as long, but he has never had the chance to tell her about it. It was almost like she clung onto what little hope she could find, but didn’t want to know for sure that he liked her back all those years—or that he didn’t. Hope, surely, would have been the better answer. With hope, you floated. With the knowledge of knowing what could have been, you drowned.

“What is it that you want to hear, then?” Schroeder asks. He wonders if he’s trying to tease her or if he truly doesn’t know. What else has changed about Lucy? What much more has changed about him? He doesn’t really know how to act around his childhood friend anymore. Every little thing sets him off, every little thing she does confuses him and brings him back to his memories. He looks at her, almost wistful.

Lucy rolls her eyes at him, but it’s not quite as cheeky and cocksure as she had been in her childhood. It’s less certain, almost shy. Schroeder never knew Lucy could be shy, not like this. “Just tell me I’m lovely and you’ve missed me and you have been waiting all  _ year _ long to come back to me.” 

“It’s been more than a year, Lucille.” Schroeder notices her gaze soften when he says her first name. “I’ve missed you, certainly, but there are too many things we don’t know about one another anymore.” He stops to look back at her, then at his feet. “We should, I don’t know, do a little catching up.”

Lucy latches unto his arm. “Alright, why don’t you stay over for supper? I still live around the neighborhood, you know, so I know your block like the back of my hand. I’m certain Linus would like to see your old house again. It’s so… empty now.”

“It’s a good thing that you and Linus have begun to get along well these days.” Schroeder smiles. He thinks that it’s a good thing Linus was around to keep Lucy in check. She could not cook or clean to save her life back when they were still in high school, though he wonders if even this has changed in the recent years. He wonders if she has already learned how to bake a batch of macaroni and cheese. Probably not. His thoughts drift off to what Linus is cooking in the kitchen for their old friends. “You used to hate each other, didn’t you?”

“Not hate, per se. It’s not like we didn’t do everything we did just out of spite, but we never harbored any lasting negative feelings against one another. We thought we hated each other, sure, but we grew out of it. It was kids’ hate. We’re grown now and we still live together…” There’s a slight bout of hesitation, and her smile falls. “Even after Mother passed away. I’ve been taking care of him all this time, anyway, and it’s not like it’s hard work having him around.” She smiles. “I would like to show you the piano we got. It’s in my room.”

“A piano?” Schroeder raises his eyebrows. “All this time, I thought you were never too interested in learning to play an instrument.” She laughs, soft and breezy. “I wondered if you were only hanging around my piano all the time because…”

“I liked you,” Lucy interrupts. There’s no hint of shyness in her face anymore, replaced with a sense of familiarity. The feeling of growing familiar with someone you had spent your childhood years with. It was like a different kind of closeness, like a renewal of the old feelings you’ve buried deep within you. “I still like you, very much, and I still don’t know how to play. But when my father came home saying he purchased the piano at some music store for half the price because they were closing down soon, I couldn’t just look the gift horse in the mouth. Why don’t you play it for me, then?”

Schroeder swallows, his throat feeling parched. How could he tell her the truth? How could he spoil what sweet feeling they had between them at this moment? “I don’t… I don’t know what tune I should play for you,” he finishes lamely.

Lucy latches unto his arm and pulls him toward her room. He wonders if she realized just how brazen it would seem to the others, to pull him to her room like that, but he knows better than to ask. She was different, after all. Perhaps she thought little more of him than an old childhood crush. “Humor me, Schroeder, I’ve been waiting for so long to see you again.” 

Schroeder hesitates from placing his hands on the piano, but she continues speaking. “I know there was a bit of bad blood between us, but you gotta remember that we were kids back then.” Her face seems solemn as she speaks. “I know that I destroyed your piano more times than what is appropriate, but I only ever wanted to show you what you meant to me. If you no longer feel comfortable playing in front of me, well—”

“I understand what you’re trying to say, Lucy, but I never said I hated you. You know that. I told you that before. I said that I never hated you.” Schroeder tries to lighten the mood as his fingers try to glide across the piano. “You never took away anything that I couldn’t replace. You never tried to crush my spirits, but you sure got a load of making fun of Beethoven.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry.” Lucy’s eyes are trained on Schroeder’s knuckles, so much that his fingers begin to tremble. “I didn’t realize back then that he was the greatest love of your life.”

“I can’t play as well as I used to,” Schroeder admits as he plays a lifeless rendition of the song she always asked him to play over and over. The tune was beautiful, she had said back then, and now he could not live up to her expectations.

“Well, that’s alright,” Lucy tries to console him, although it falls flat. “I’m certain you could learn how to play like before. The piano was your greatest love. It’s different. It was your passion, you know, you can’t just forget something like that.”

Schroeder sighs unhappily. Although he played in bars every so often, it was nothing at all like playing in front of a certain audience that he actually enjoyed having around his piano and yet routinely ignored. Out of habit, he begins to tell her that the joy is in the playing, but he doesn’t quite believe it.

“But you know what I’ve noticed, Schroeder?” Lucy says. “I realized you don’t play as confidently as you used to. What changed?” She frowns down at him. “Is it the pressure?”

Schroeder shakes his head. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with me these days. I’ve been trying to compose my own songs, and yet I couldn’t help but feel silly. I feel like I should give up on my old dreams and look for another.” Lucy seems visibly taken back at this, so he stops there. No reason to spoil a good afternoon talking about what could have been. “What else have you noticed? You still have a keen eye for detail.”

Lucy looks at him again. “Your hair is still as golden as it had been before. I wonder if you still have the same beautiful eyes. I wonder if you’ll finally use them to look up at me.”

At this, Schoeder grows shy. What could she possibly see in him that she hasn’t seen in anyone else? She was beautiful. She is as beautiful as he remembered her to be, even more so. Her skin glows brown under the light above their heads, her eyes large and bright blue, outlined with a layer of kohl. He knew she couldn’t possibly have anything unique to him.

“You’ve made me a happy girl back then. You wouldn’t have been able to find anyone happier to listen to Beethoven.” He looks at her as she leans against the side of her piano. How she would blow him air kisses back then, how she would tell him countless times that she wanted to kiss him. He had not forgotten anything about her. “I couldn’t possibly forget you.”

“Would you like to spend the summer with me, Schroeder?” Lucy tells him, changing the subject swiftly, before he could even reply. “I could show you around again, hit up a few friends of ours, you know. I wonder what you still remember.”

Schroeder would be lying if he told her he had already forgotten everything about their neighborhood. He could still remember all of the twists and turns to the road leading to their old house where his parents still resided, taken to heart the way to Charlie Brown’s house. But he didn’t say no. He was not about to refuse a summer spent with Lucy Van Pelt.

—

“Lunchtime!” Sally called out all the way from the kitchen. The thick scent of cheddar cheese wafted through the air. Schroeder would have known that creamy smell anywhere.

Schroeder looks down at the dish, suddenly solemn. “It’s macaroni and cheese,” he whispers. “You all remembered?”

Charlie Brown comments on this, stating the obvious. “It’s just _macaroni_ _and cheese_ , Schroeder. Of course we did.”

Linus looks over and nudges his older sister in the ribs. “Lucy definitely did.” Lucy nudges him back, harder this time. 

“How could we forget? It’s Beethoven’s favorite.” Lucy smiles and pops open an old bottle of wine from their pantry. “Don’t tell Father, Linus. You know better.” She begins pouring wine into mismatched glasses, knowing they were underprepared. 

“To Schroeder.” They bump glasses together. “Cheers!”

“How classy,” Schroeder whispers, idly holding the glass and swishing the wine around, as Lucy says, “Don’t question it.”

— 

“See you, Lucy.”

“Not if I see you first.”

—

Over the days they have spent together, Schroeder has felt more comfortable being with Lucy. She no longer made him nervous, although there was still that lingering feeling that she could be gone any minute the moment he takes his eyes off her, that she could leave him hanging anytime she wants. Like her presence was invaluable. Like he was wasting time.

Under the gaze of the sun, Schroeder has never felt lighter in years, feeling like he could hold his hand to the sky and float in the airy feeling of the first summer they’ve spent together since he left. Not even when his fingers would glide effortlessly across the black and white keys of the piano, not even during the years he spent with countless girls hanging around him. There’d been several girls confessing their love to him, but it had always been one girl his heart would come back to. He would have his back hunched across the piano and just like before, he would play the tune she loved best.

_ I loved you best,  _ Schroeder wishes to tell the girl in front of him. She was clueless about the way he looked at her like he longed to touch her but no longer could. He looked at her as she watched the branches of the tree swayed underneath the glow of the sun. He watched as her shadows ricocheted. He watched as the light bounced off her face, as the wind blew through her hair. He noticed how her hair, turning dark brown in the golden sunlight, longer and bouncier than he remembered it to be, now curled down to her shoulders. 

He lifted his head to the sky when she opened her mouth to speak. “I remember thinking I was the prettiest little thing to set her feet upon the earth, up until I met you. My mother always told me not to fall in love with musicians.” She smiles shyly and motions toward him with her hands. “You know, with their wishy-washy nature and their pretty eyes and talented hands that don’t know how to hold anyone else’s.”

Schroeder hums, urging her to go on. It wasn't like he would like to hear a list of her faults, something she had always been good at dishing out, but he was in creative burnout and he needed a new perspective. Maybe, just maybe, she could have the answer. Lucy always seemed to know what to so.

“I longed to hold your hands, but you didn’t allow me to hold them until you knew you’d be gone the following day. I didn’t know what to do when the moonlight carved shadows on your face that only I could see.” Lucy swallows a lump in her throat. “I liked you so much when we were fifteen that you had me writing poetry.” She laughs weakly at this. “ _ Poetry. _ ”

“I’ve always known you were a talented girl, Lucille.”

“But you didn’t see the same in me. I’ve only liked you since, you know. It’s always only been you. I just couldn’t see the same in anyone else. I couldn’t replicate how it felt when you kissed me for the first time when we were eight. I thought of you during my classes and dreamt of you all summer long.”

Schroeder swallowed, his throat dry. He could feel her bright blue eyes staring up at him, waiting for a reaction, a change in his expression, a verbal response, anything. When they were children, she had complained to him about how much she hated it when he wouldn’t react to anything she did. How she hated it when she couldn’t draw anything out of him. But he never knew the right thing to say to her. Whenever Lucy looks at him in that way, he couldn’t help but feel scathed. 

It was like Lucy had scattered his thoughts throughout the grittiness of the windswept sand. Schroeder couldn’t think about anything else but how she has loved him more than anything else and how he has always thought she was the most beautiful thing in the world. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I’ve poured my heart out on the ground, Schroeder, and the only thing you tell me is that you have nothing to say.” Lucy’s tone would be snappish if it were anyone else, but she does not seem displeased at all. Not when it comes to him. “I just want us to settle down and sort our feelings out. Like this.”

“I suppose you’ve unraveled me.” Schroeder glances down at his hands, at the calluses enveloping his fingers. Not from playing the piano, but from gripping hockey sticks. He looks down at the marks the things he loves have left on his body. “And I think I have already forgotten what it was like to live without one person leaning on my piano, eager to listen to what I have to say. When you went away, I couldn’t bear it.”

“Oh.” Lucy’s voice is small. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“I think I have finally gotten used to you that I couldn’t stand being without you.” Schroeder picks at a hangnail, trying to look away from her falling face. “I’ve been trying to rekindle my fire, you know, my passion for playing. But it has always felt like there was something missing inside after I left the neighborhood. And then, I suppose I’ve realized that I couldn’t play without you. I couldn’t play without my muse.”

On Lucy’s lips is a crooked smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Then,” she begins, “can I still be your muse, after all?”

“Don’t get carried away,” quips Schroeder, but he doesn’t mean it. “Of course you can be my muse again. Of course.”

—

“What is happiness?”

“Here. Right here.”

—

Lucy drives Schroeder around in her car. He had been too mortified to let her know that he hadn't gotten his license, but she eventually found out after he failed to identify the brakes and the glove compartment. She had been quite kind about it, only laughing for what had seemed like ten minutes.

“Where do you want to go, Lucy?” Schroeder asks once she stops the car by the curb. “You sure we’re in the right place?”

Lucy nods. “I’ve been meaning to check out the new theater for a while now. Come on, we still have to buy our tickets.” She looks back at him still in the car. “Unless you’re paying?”

Schroeder bristles, agonized. He hasn’t stepped into one in more than a year. “I have bad memories linked with theater.” 

Lucy rolls her eyes and tugs on his sleeve so he doesn’t have any choice but to go inside with her. “Come on! I wanted to take you to that new theater that just finished renovation. I thought theater would be right up your alley.”

Schroeder picks up a booklet.  _ Much Ado About Nothing.  _ He recognized it as something that would have been assigned in English class. “I didn’t know you liked Shakespeare.”

“I didn’t, either.” Lucy smiles. “But plays are always lovely. I adore them though I never know what is going on. Especially plays about love. Love always seems so idyllic, picturesque.”

Schroeder picks out two chairs near the back, although not too far away that they would have trouble seeing the screen. “I suppose so. I suppose love knows neither age nor time.”

—

“So?” Lucy says, sounding upbeat even though a small child had been kicking her seat. Like Rerun, Schroeder thinks. He notices how hopeful her voice is. “So... what did you think?”

“I believe it was beautiful,” he says earnestly. “The set was beautifully decorated and the lights lit up the whole stage at the right moments. There was a lot of love in the production.”

Lucy smiles. “I think we’ve found the perfect solution to your problem, Schroeder. Come with me to the theater again.”

“What do you mean?” Schroeder says, confused. How could attending plays become the answer to his problem, to any of his problems? And then, it hits him: she wanted him to  _ act _ .

“I think it would do some good for you to use acting as a… creative outlet,” Lucy tells him gently but firmly. “I have read books about burnout and maybe you need to venture out.”

Schroeder sighs, heavy. “Tell me again not to fall in love with a therapist.” To this, Lucy lifts her fist and threatens to slug him on the nose. “For one, I’m not a therapist.  _ Yet.  _ Two: I’m only suggesting it. Three: you are a musician. You’re worse!”

Schroeder tries to ignore the way her face flushed pink when he told her that she was in love with him.  _ Smooth _ , he thinks, until she pulls him down by his collar to kiss him on the lips. 

Lucy doesn’t let go. Light-headed, Schroeder doesn’t bother pulling away. “Sometimes you need to be kissed to shut up.”

—

In accordance with Lucy’s suggestion, Schroeder begins to train at home, memorizing all of the lines to Shakespearean plays. He couldn’t quite find his groove yet, but he felt light. Lighter than he has ever felt before. Often, Lucy would invite him in, taking him up to her room so she could rehearse with him. Antony and Cleopatra. Romeo and Juliet. Even Hamlet.

“I wonder why I couldn’t,” Schroeder begins, but his voice trails away. “I wonder why I couldn’t succeed in university. I was so filled with self-loathing that I couldn’t reach anyone’s expectations of me. I had disappointed Beethoven. My idol, my grandmother, even my friends. Probably, especially you.”

Lucy grows quiet, listening intently as he speaks. “I feel like such a loser, even more than Charlie Brown has ever felt in his whole life.” Schroeder laughs bitterly. “It’s like—it’s like I wasted five whole years moving away trying to find a good life elsewhere when I could have spent that time being with you. I loved music, I still do. It’s my passion. I can’t forget that. I couldn’t possibly ignore that it was my life. But it’s like I wasted my life on music when all I loved was right here.”

“You have a gift, Schroeder.” Lucy’s hands tremble as she reaches out to touch him, cup his face in his hands. “And I couldn’t possibly hold a grudge against you for chasing after what you have always been good at. You’re still successful, even if you don’t know it. You’re an amazing conductor, I’m sure about that. And I’m certain everyone in the bars, every single person drunk off their minds or not, love your work.”

Schroeder leans closer to her. Lucy feels like she’s holding a small child in her hands. “You think so? You really think so?”

“We’ve always known you were going to be successful, you know. No matter what direction you went in. No matter what career you took up. There was something in those hands.”

“What are you trying to say, then?” Schroeder asks. To Lucy, he sounds almost afraid, perhaps of what is next to come.

“I think you should come back,” Lucy says. “I don’t think we could possibly be together when your heart is still out there.” She sighs, pressing her lips against his. “Your love is all the way out there and I still haven’t found mine. I don’t think so.”

“I’m already happy where I am.” Schroeder wipes the stray falling down Lucy’s face. “I want to be wherever you are, if that would mean coming back to bars or staying down here.”

“Then let me move in with you,” Lucy tells him. “I’ll be the best roommate you will ever have. I’ll clean up after you and I’ll learn to cook. I’ll support you as long as you have me.”

“I can cook and clean,” Schroeder says. “You don’t have to do all of that just for me. I could support your studies while you’re still taking up psychology.” He runs his thumb over her hand. “I know you can do it. I know you’ll make me proud.”

—

“I want to kiss you again.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”

—

Lucy has moved into Schroeder’s apartment, finding a new life in the city he resided in. Another five years later, she has settled down into her career of being a licensed therapist. “I didn’t think you would be right, but I made it. I’m… happy.”

Schroeder pulls out a batch of brownies from the oven. “I’m so happy you finally have the career you’ve always wanted.” He smiles up at her. “Does the date today ring a bell to you?”

“It’s December 16th,” Lucy tells him, glancing at the calendar on the wall. He’s been baking brownies. Then, she realizes, “It’s Beethoven’s birthday. Happy Beethoven’s birthday, Schroeder. I know how much Beethoven meant to you back then. I know that Beethoven still influences you some way or another, but I’m a little surprised that you still remember.”

“Of course I am,” Schroeder tells her. “I think that you have subconsciously linked yourself to Beethoven all this time.” 

Lucy glares at him. “Good things! I mean good things. You know when you gave me that little cupcake for his birthday?” She settles herself down on the sofa, pulling him down with her. “And all of those presents you gave me throughout the years?” She mumbles a yes, nearly nodding off to sleep in his arms. He makes sure to be careful not to touch her, not to wake her. “I kissed you on the cheek once, you know.”

“You did?” Lucy asks, stirring awake. Beside her, Schroeder nods and says, “I wanted to tell you but you ran away and I couldn’t chase after you. I thought I blew it, but it turns out you liked me so much more than I thought you really did.”

“You still have so much more to learn about me, dear Schroeder!” Instead of responding, Schroeder takes her hand and kisses it, thinking that if happiness was a person, he was holding her in her arms. He loved her for almost as long as she liked him and you can’t just forget a girl like that.

Schroeder had always thought Lucy’s heart was made of stone, but only now, as he looks down at her sleep-soft face does he realize how gentle she could be when she wasn’t rattled out by her own problems. He reaches in his pocket, thinking of ruby-red skies and bright blue eyes and special summers spent with sand-dusted feet. “Hey, wake up, Luce.”

She turns the other way before sighing and blinking her eyes open. He thinks about warm puppies and symphonies and her sunsweet skin and all of the years spent waiting. He thinks about missed chances and bad decisions and music and her smile. “I don’t want to be a bachelor like Beethoven anymore. I think I have had enough of waiting for too long.”

A bouquet of roses bought from the old woman’s daughter. A single lavender one—for love at first sight. Peach, gratitude for the kindness she has always shown him. Red and white, unity. A ring, a sparkling diamond. He wanted to be with her for as long as he loved or at least for as long as she would love him. “I’ve been meaning to tell you just how much I love you. You made me happy, you showed me new things, you made me feel the warmest even without touching me. I could make you happy. I want to make you happy all your life.” A red rose—love, passion. “Will you marry me, Lucy Van Pelt?”

Lucy simply nods, too tear-stricken to speak. She cups his cheeks in her hands and kisses him. Lips on lips, skin on skin. Gentle at first, then kisses him hard like he was air and she was running out of breath, like she hasn’t gotten enough of him in the past years. If kissing was devotion, she would be worshipping him. Like she was ready to devote a lifetime to the boy with blond hair and rough edges. She looked forward to married life and the music it would bring them.

—

“Happiness is right here.”

“It’s when I’m with you.”


End file.
